The Banks of the Devon.
["These verses," says Burns, "were composed on a charming girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq., physician. She is sister to my worthy friend Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline; and was born on the banks of Ayr, but was, at the time I wrote lines, (August, 1787,) residing at Herveyston, in Clackmannanshire, on the romantic banks of the little river Devon.—I first heard the air from a lady in Inverness and got the notes taken down for this work."—The name of the Gaelic air is "Banarach Bonnach Ruidh," or "The Brown Dairy-maid."]
How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew!
O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile, that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
Let Bourbon exult in her gay gilded lilies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose;
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.
Lassie wi’ the lintwhite locks.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of "Rothiemurchus' Rant." The heroine was Jean Lorimer, of whom we have had occasion to speak in previous notes.]
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tend the flocks ':
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
Now Nature cleads the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O?
Lassie wi, &c.
And when the welcome summer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower,
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Through yellow-waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, O.
And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.
Craigie-burn-wood.
[Another song by Burns in honour of Jean Lorimer, the "lassie wi' the lint-white locks." Burns wrote it to aid the eloquence of a Mr. Gillespie, one of her suitors. The eloquence and the poet's verse were equally unavailing; she married an officer who used her cruelly, and the result was a separation after a few months. "Craigie-burn-wood," says Currie, "is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, about three miles distant from the village of that name. The woods of Craigie-burn and Dumcrieff were at one time favourite haunts of our poet. It was there he met the 'Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,' and there he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics." The chorus of the present song is old.]
Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood,
And blithely awaukens the morrow;
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood.
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow.
Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,
And O! to be lying beyond thee,
O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep
That's laid in the bed beyond thee!
I see the spreading leaves and flowers,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But pleasure they ha'e nane for me,
